


And They Were Roommates

by Rogueangelll



Category: Alexander Hamilton - Ron Chernow, American Revolution RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Come Swallowing, Crushing, Cute, Fluff, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Safety first, Sex, Sickeningly Sweet, Summer Camp, Summer Fling, Teasing, Tenderness, angst angst angst, angsttttttt, beginning of relationship, being teenagers, consent first, good vibes, high school sweethearts, little rough, not all sex, positive :), proper condom use, romantic, shower fantasy, soon to be high school sweethearts, yay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:54:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27751117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rogueangelll/pseuds/Rogueangelll
Summary: Laurens goes to summer camp every year, but this summer his mom's dying and furthermore he is not pleased to have classmate Hamilton as his bunkmate.  Hamilton was, like, annoyingly perfect and loud and over-achieve-y.Laurens arrived under the impression that there was no way Hamilton, that robot, had suffered a day in his life.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Comments: 10
Kudos: 56





	And They Were Roommates

**Author's Note:**

> explicit sex :) nsfw

The moment Laurens set his bags down on the bed, he knew he was going to hate the rest of his summer. Bags on the other bed was Hamilton: the overly opinionated, cheery kid with too much to say and too little of a will to ever cease to glow like a peachy angel from heaven. He was attractive and charismatic and Laurens hated it.

To be fair, Laurens didn't know him too well—but he hated him. 

They'd known each other since they were little. They'd gone to the same school for years, since kindergarten, and now it was their junior year of high school—and Laurens felt no empathy for Hamilton. To him this kid was, and always had been, a robot. He was a sociopath who always put on a smile and always charmed everyone he met—well, not Laurens. He wouldn't be put under a spell like the rest of the student body. In fact, he hated Hamilton.

Hamilton didn't hate him. He smiled when he saw him. He was glad to be bunked with somebody interesting during their stay. A private sponsor of their high school funded a trip upstate to a summer camp, on which fifty students attended for a luckily low price. He knew it was a camp some students already attended regularly—Laurens included. Hamilton figured that, well, he was going to be forced to enjoy this trip one way or another and if he had to stay with somebody, he didn't mind Laurens at all. There were worse students attending with whom he'd hate to spend five weeks of camping. He didn't trust others not to rifle through his belongings, not to keep him awake at annoying hours, or not to not keep their space clean. He figured Laurens, however, was not a thief nor was he an unclean pest. 

Laurens wasn't in a great mood, anyway. He wasn't looking forward to camping. His mom was in the hospital right now and he wasn't even allowed to have a cellphone on him to call her. 

He didn't even want to go on this stupid trip. He wanted to be with her.

"Hey, Laurens. Looks like we'll be spending these next few weeks together."

Laurens forced a smile. "Mm." 

A part of him wanted to be away from his mother, though. It hurt him to see her. But this only made him feel guiltier, that he could be such a horrible son to such a wonderful woman.

"There's just a couple beds and a drawer each. Nothing else to get excited over," said Hamilton.

"Yeah, man." He'd been to camp before. He knew the cabins were only wide enough to measure him laying across the floor maybe one and a half lengths. 

Hamilton suppressed his unimpressed expression. "Well, I claimed this bed over here. Hope you don't mind. If you were really set on it for some reason, though, I won't oppose to switching."

"Whatever's fine," he said in an odd manner. He was being needlessly difficult and awkward and he knew it, but he couldn't seem to stop it. He had too much on his mind. He was annoyed Hamilton had the audacity to really be talking to him right now. For chrissakes, he was going through some shit.

"Cool." He held his smile for a moment longer before flopping back on the mattress (which, as it was, had no sheets or blankets yet) and allowing his face to relax, no longer smiling, under the impression Laurens didn't care to pay attention and was busy with his own sheets. It felt nice not to hold that grin.

Despite the impression Laurens had made, he did care subconsciously and (as he was quite sensitive anyway) he took notice of Hamilton dramatically laying down. He unconsciously made a mental note of Hamilton no longer smiling (he did not acknowledge it to himself consciously) and found himself staring too long. He looked back to his bag before Hamilton looked at him.

He frowned, as well. 

"I hate making beds," Hamilton groaned. It was an attempt at humanity. He worried he somehow put Laurens off already.

Laurens opened up a package of sheets he'd got for this trip—just a twin size bed, of course, nothing fancy—and made a hum at Hamilton's comment. 

Under his breath Hamilton said, "Now don't you overwhelm me with your lively engagements."

Laurens heard the passive aggressive utterance but said nothing on it. 

Subsequently, he proved Hamilton's point.

Hamilton got up and, feeling dejected, put sheets on his own bed, followed by a quilt and pillow. Laurens was slower at doing this and managed the same amount of work in a much longer window of time. 

Hamilton clicked his tongue. He decided he'd try again with Laurens later and first catch up with some of his own friends. 

• • •

A week passed, but Laurens' attitude did not. 

He called his mother on the camp landline every night for the first few days, then once after a couple of days, and now, it's been two more days, and he's yet to call. He wasn't sure he should. It made him miserable.

Night three of not having called his mother, Laurens sat at the campfire a while. He noticed Hamilton's absence. It made him uncomfortable to think about being aware of him being gone, but it was really bugging him. What could he be doing?

Laurens excused himself and walked up the hill to their cabin. He'd hoped to catch Hamilton in the act of something awful, just to appease his conscience. He hoped Hamilton might be smoking pot or something, anything that could prove he was just as imperfect as the rest of them. He wanted to see Hamilton suffering and stupid because he felt like everybody but Hamilton was always suffering and stupid.

He was like a robot. Could he ever show vulnerability for, like, one minute? It was as though his only purpose was to be attractive, and as though he didn't care.

He opened the door without knocking, and Hamilton, who hadn't heard his approaching footsteps outside, jumped.

Laurens was even more startled than he, as he'd awkwardly walked in on Hamilton crying. It humbled him, for sure. He didn't move for a moment as Hamilton scrambled to wipe at his face, hiding his grief.

"This is— awkward. Jeez, I'm sorry," Laurens whispered. 

"No, no, I'm, uh," he blinked rapidly and forced a smile. "I have really bad allergies. To, uh, flowers," he lied.

Laurens bit his lip. "Don't worry about it... Plus, I'm not that oblivious..." He sighed. 

Hamilton just turned his head away. "Did you come to get something, or what?"

Laurens almost said 'no' but he remembered the reason was to catch Hamilton doing something and, well, he caught him. And now he felt like an ass. 

Well, at least Hamilton had feelings.

"I noticed you weren't at the campfire."

"It's buggy."

Laurens only gave a look of disdain.

"Well, whatever," Hamilton whispered, resigned. "So, you found me. Are you just gonna stand there, or will you beg me to hang out?" He was joking about that second part. Laurens didn't care enough.

"I mean... if..." Laurens was sort of stumbling. "I'm kinda sick of s'mores anyway. I'll stay in, if you don't mind."

Well, that caught Hamilton off guard. He suddenly wondered if his face was still a wreck from crying. "Of course not, whatever. I'm not doing much of anything..."

Laurens entered and left the cabin door open on his way to his respective bed. "So... what's up?"

Hamilton wiped his face again. "Oh, you know..." he paused for too long.

"No, I don't."

He sort of laughed at that. "Sorry. Um. I don't know. I don't want to talk about it."

"Yeah, that's cool." He meant it. "Wanna talk about anything else?"

Hamilton sort of wanted to smile at that, not quite sure why but lavishing in the feeling of feeling a bit better than before. Cool. He cleared his throat. "Sure. Can I ask you a question?"

Laurens figured, "Sure."

"What's your favorite pizza topping?"

Laurens chuckled. "Okay. I thought it was going to be something hard. Thanks for that—um, probably cheese. The more, the better. Cheesy bread, Parmesan baked into the crust, honestly—triple stuffed crust, extra-extra cheese, the toppings can be whatever but they have to have cheese over them."

"Ah. Quite specific stipulations. That sounds... good. I'd have a slice, to be honest."

"Ah, sick. Do you prefer your takeout pizza to be regular crust, or the handmade deep-pan crust pizza?"

Hamilton said, "I don't think too much about it. I'm more of a recreation-oriented kinda person when it comes to my pizza. You know? 'What is it I'm doing as I enjoy this pizza?' Is it my home alone dinner, a party food, out with friends, or was it eaten while watching TV or socializing, did I eat it high, et cetera."

"Yeah, yeah, I feel you... I guess my favorite would be watching TV with one friend, eating pizza, high."

Hamilton performed a chef's kiss. "Magnífico."

"People are overwhelming."

"Tell me about it," said Hamilton. "I thought summer camp would be fun. It was always my dream or something. To be... anywhere. Have fun during the summer. Like, feel normal."

"Yeah, it's not all it's cracked up to be."

"It's okay so far and all. I'm just not sure how much more I can take."

"I feel you. I think most everyone's annoying. I'm sorry... I thought you were annoying. I didn't give you a chance."

"Well, give it ten minutes, you'll regret you said that and screw off." He huffed.

Laurens didn't respond to that, but felt a little sad about it. He said, instead, "Hey, I've got some candy stashed in my dresser."

"I know."

"Oh, I thought it was a well-kept secret."

"I was there when you 'hid' it."

"Oh. Want some?"

Hamilton turned over. "Nah. Thank you. I want to be drunk."

"I don't have any alcohol, sorry."

"It's okay." He closed his eyes. 

"I'm going to eat candy. I can maybe ask someone about the alcohol, though. Every year, the older campers always have weed and alcohol. That's what's kept me from ripping out my hair these past couple summers. I brought a little weed last year but not enough to last me the whole time."

"Sounds tasty."

"Yeah. I like to put alcohol in my water bottle when we do the campfires. Usually, a couple of my friends have some. Nobody offered me any tonight. I can always go ask."

"It's okay, Laurens. But thanks."

"...Yeah. I just... I feel really bad. I wasn't super friendly."

Hamilton's nose twitched and instead of lowkey pining, he just felt annoyance. "So... what changed?" It was more of a statement—rhetorical. "You saw me crying. You felt pity."

Laurens picked at the lollipop wrapper in his hand. "I'm sorry. It's not like that..."

"Don't feel bad for me."

"If you—I won't. I don't mean to patronize you. I just was so caught up in my head that I didn't think about how I was being hurtful, not until I noticed you gone and went to check on you. It just made me realize how I was being an ass."

"Okay." Hamilton softly repeated, "It's okay, Laurens." He sort of shrugged, opening his eyes. "Thanks for hanging out, then."

Laurens was glad he wasn't being ousted. "Do you wanna play cards?"

"Sounds fun."

• • •

Two days later, Laurens had hardly left Hamilton's side. They kayaked together, ate meals together, hung out at the fire pit together, et cetera. 

Laurens felt a sense of not only relief, but thankfulness, that he should get to spend time with Hamilton, whom he previously thought negative things about—because it turned out, Hamilton was pretty cool. And funny. And it was no secret that he was cute. And Laurens didn't even notice he hadn't called his mother in a week. He was having fun for once.

So, Laurens thanked his lucky stars for time with Hamilton. He was glad he had opened his mind to this side of him before wasting the entire summer, salty. He was glad Hamilton seemed to like hanging out with him.

Hamilton asked, "Don't you have other friends?"

Laurens answered, "Yeah, but, why?"

"Wouldn't you rather hang with them?"

"...I like hanging with you. We can go hang with my friends, too, though. They'll like you, too."

So, Hamilton obliged to hanging with Laurens' friends—who soon became his friends, as well.

Kayaking, once they were alone in the middle of the lake, Laurens asked, "Hey, Alex, can I ask you a personal question?"

Hamilton rounded his kayak and bumped into Laurens'. "You can ask. If you wanna so bad."

"What, uh, were you crying over that night?"

Hamilton sort of expected this. "Promise not to laugh."

"I won't laugh at you. I wouldn't."

"It's embarrassing."

"Aw, come on. If I laugh, you have full permission to push me into the water."

"Maybe I should tell it in a funny way, then."

"Well, you can't cheat," said Laurens.

Hamilton put on a grin. "This hilarious thing happened to me a few years ago, yeah. My mom died." He was the furthest from thrilled about that. But he felt kind of broken—like he could laugh about it. He must've been broken if his mother's grave was funny to him. "Yeah. I was sitting around, doing nothing, and uh," he focused on the miles and miles of woods around the lake, no longer smiling, "the book I was reading reminded me of her. Well—everything does. All the time. Things she liked, the emotions I felt when she passed, all that. Jeez, Laurens, what's your problem? Don't be more sad about my dead mom than I am."

Laurens wiped at his eyes, trying not to cry in the first place. He was a terrible, terrible person. A terrible son. He hadn't called his mother in days and days. He should have been spending every second he could, eating up the minutes of their conversations like it'd keep her alive. She was dying and all he wanted to do was forget. He was the worst.

And poor Hamilton. He had no idea. How could he go to school with somebody for eleven years and not know their freaking mother passed away? 

"I'm sorry," said Laurens, still swiping the tears. "Um. Sorry." He cleared his throat. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

Hamilton thought the emotional display to be strange. "Yeah. It's okay."

"How can you joke about it?"

He shrugged. "She doesn't mind."

Laurens wanted to laugh, but the moment he did, his heart broke a little more and he had to fight to not cry anymore. "How'd she die?"

"She was sick." His words were dry and bitter. "She didn't want to live anymore 'cause of it. So... her prescription ended up in her stomach and that was that. I was, uh, thirteen. And I still... cry when I think about it. So I don't think it's funny or anything, just so you know. I'm not a fucking monster..."

Laurens didn't know how to respond. How could life be so cruel? He was going to break down in front of Hamilton, whom he barely knew. 

"Are you okay?" asked Hamilton, aware Laurens was straining to remain calm by the way his fists and pupils trembled. 

Laurens said, "I'm so sorry. It's just..." he put his head in his hands.

Four minutes and thirteen seconds passed in silence. Hamilton would have counted it if he'd known it'd be such a long and painful spell of stillness.

Laurens finally said, head still down, "My mom's got cancer."

Hamilton's face flushed. It made sense, now.

Wow. How fucking hilarious. How cruel.

"I'm so sorry, John, I—I had no idea. Are you okay?"

He shook his head.

"Here I am rambling about my three-year-old loss, and your mom—is she going to be okay?"

He shrugged. "We don't know. Doesn't look good. She has some time, but it doesn't look good." He felt anger, suddenly. "Don't be sorry for me, I'm the one taking my time with my mother for granted, and you're probably thinking I'm horrible—"

"You're not."

"You don't wish you spent every moment with her? I look like a hypocrite—"

"Of course I wish that, and I feel so much guilt, and anger, but listen to me now, John, seriously: never feel guilty or ashamed or at fault for anything that happens with something like this. If you dwell on it, you'll never forgive yourself. ...Sometimes I think I could have done something better, changed things. But all it does is make me feel worse. You'll feel worse if you think about it like you can change it. You can't, I'm sorry. You can and should spend every moment you're able with her, but take care of yourself first. If she loves you, there is nothing that could make her happier than you being healthy and happy."

"I don't know if I'll be able to watch her die. And I'm so... I came to camp even though I knew she was in rough condition. Subconsciously, I wanted to get away. But I told myself it was because she wanted me to."

"John, I am telling you, there's nothing wrong with that," he implored. 

Laurens sighed, rubbing his eyes. "The only fun I've had this whole time has been with you."

Hamilton was flattered, but was unsure if it was an appropriate time. "Thanks. It's cool we're hanging out."

"I'm sorry about your mom."

"I'm sorry about yours."

"Dead and dying mothers to make this kayaking experience so fun."

"Yay." He sighed. "I won't make dead mom jokes if it bothers you," he promised, understanding this was a more recent trauma for Laurens. 

"It's okay."

He decided to take note anyway. "Wanna race back, then?" He knew Laurens was probably going to beat him, but he didn't care.

Laurens readied his paddle. "Whenever you say."

"Okay." He didn't pose, he just took off without saying to start. Laurens had to catch up.

Despite having the advantage at the beginning, Hamilton was right: Laurens beat him.

• • •

Just over halfway through the second week, Laurens felt even more glad that his bad impression had been remedied and he was able to enjoy this trip.

He called his mother, of course. Told her probably noticeably too many times that he loved her. He told her some about what he was up to, about Hamilton, how they were friends when he had barely known him all this time, about how Hamilton was fun to hang out with and how cool Hamilton was, and so on. 

She noticed he was enjoying this year at camp the most. Secretly, a part of Eleanor Ball Laurens hoped her son wasn't pretending to enjoy camp more than he did for her happiness' sake. But there was this moment his voice got real excited, like a little kid again, and she knew her baby truly was happy. Luckily, landlines did not have cameras. She was alone in her hospital room, her husband working for the night, her other children (save for Henry, who attended the same summer camp as his older brother) at home, because it was not fair for them to spend their summer in the hospital, even if with her. She had time. They had time. They deserved to be kids.

She wanted her Jack to be happy. He was smiling for real on the other end and when she closed her eyes, she swore she could see it.

She told him she loved him.

He would always love her.

• • •

One afternoon, Laurens had thought, rethought, and over-thought about whether or not he and Hamilton could be closer—for the entirety of their hike. While hiking, they each had a buddy, and Hamilton was his; they stuck with some of Laurens' friends, reached the peak of the summit, and began back down, but Hamilton insisted Laurens come with him to check out the other side of the peak where lupins grew. The other campers went ahead without them. After all, the trail was marked. It'd be fine.

"So, lupins," said Laurens. "Okay."

"They look so cool. Don't they?"

"Oh, yeah."

Hamilton clasped his hands behind his back. "I just love the view up here."

"It's nice."

"I wish I lived on top of a mountain."

"That'd be a dream." He was smiling, thanking life for existing and for how good he felt and for his mother's health. He stopped thinking, "What if," in this moment, for once able to appreciate her life instead of mourning her before she even kicked the bucket. She wanted him to be happy. She loved him forever. He loved her. That's all he needed.

He sighed, eyes flicking down to Hamilton, who still studied the view. It made him remember to smile, again. This time, it was soft, lips together.

Laurens peered into the distance. "It'll be maybe fifteen minutes before dark. Do you want to stay a little longer to watch the sunset?"

Hamilton could have taken thirteen and a half steps south-southeast and plummeted to his demise right then, right there. He swallowed back any sort of excitement. For some godforsaken reason, watching the sunset with Laurens gave him the craziest butterflies. It was not his favorite—but he sort of relished in it. It'd be wild to think anything could happen, but what if it could?

"Yeah," he said. "Let's look around a little and wait."

Laurens turned to inspect some nature elsewhere so he could safely grin ear to ear.

He wondered how he could have possibly gone from his former mindset about Hamilton to pining over him in just a couple weeks or so. Not even. And he was... 

Wow.

Hamilton was sitting on the edge of the cliff, wildflowers adding splotches of color to the picture. It was perfectly faced to the sunset. It took only a few minutes for the sky to become vivid pigments of pinks and oranges.

Laurens was thankful he had his camera on his neck. He quickly removed the lens cap and captured many photos of the scene. Hamilton didn't turn around until the snaps ceased.

"Any good ones?" he asked.

Laurens flicked through them, but the sun glared on the dinky screen. "I hope." He took a quick couple ones of Hamilton facing him this time, smiling. "I'll send you something Insta-worthy."

Hamilton chuckled as he turned to the sunset again. He leaned his weight back on the heels of his hands. Laurens had said, "insta-worthy," and Hamilton sort of had this feeling... he must be gay, right?

He still looked at the view when he felt Laurens' presence beside him. He studied it for just a minute more, then turned to see just how close Laurens had positioned himself. He was surprised to be handed a bundle of wildflowers.

He sort of laughed, gushing, actually taken off guard, "Wow. Flowers. Thank you."

Laurens, blushing, didn't know what he was doing. He couldn't even tell if Hamilton liked the flowers. Was the 'flowers.' a passive-aggressive additive? It sounded aggressive. Maybe Hamilton hated the flowers. Flowers are stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Hamilton placed his hand upon the narrow margin between them. He looked back to the sky.

"The sunset's so beautiful."

He nodded and whispered, "Yeah."

"Great idea to stay to watch it."

He said, "Yeah."

Hamilton smiled, recognizing the genre of Laurens' hesitance. "You okay, John?"

John. His heart felt at ease. "I'm great."

Hamilton shifted slightly closer, looking at him once again. "The flowers are beautiful, too."

"You're—" he swallowed. "Yeah. Um. So, I wanted to tell you, really quick, I'm sorry, I was so rude to you—"

"Woah," laughed Hamilton, "you're still on about this? It's cool. None taken. We all have bad spells. I'm just glad we've been able to... you know, not hate being temporary roommates."

"Definitely, I—I do not hate rooming with you, like, in the slightest. I wish I had seen how cool you were before and—you're just... so..." he was laughing to fill silence. "Um. You're cool."

Hamilton laughed, because Laurens definitely was not acting cool right now. He really liked it. 

"I'm glad we're getting to watch this sunset together," said he, finally, to quiet Laurens' rambling.

Laurens nodded. "Yeah! The sunset. Sorry, let's watch it."

Hamilton smiled at the sky. 

He leaned on Laurens.

With a deep breath, Laurens tried to release his stress and focus on putting his arm around Hamilton and enjoying it and watching the sunset. It was so pretty. Hamilton really was cuddling him.

His inner voice squeaked. 

Okay, this was okay.

He saw Hamilton close his eyes. 

The sun was gone, leaving in its absence stars, for a good ten minutes before either boy spoke.

Hamilton readjusted. "Thanks."

"You're welcome, but for?" Laurens hoped selfishly that they could remain on the cliff forever. 

"Spending time with me. I had fun." He looked up, gave Laurens' hand a squeeze. "We should probably get back." 

Laurens pulled away, slowly at first, disdainful. He was glad Hamilton was keeping the bouquet of wildflowers. 

Hamilton commented on the lupins Laurens included in the bundle. He told him he was sweet.

They took out their flashlights and began down the mountain.

At a landmark, Hamilton inquired of the time. 

"We still have an hour to make it to the fire pit, then," said Hamilton.

Laurens was a couple paces ahead. "I don't feel like s'mores tonight."

"Then let's stay in after we shower."

"If you really want to, we can go to the fire. If you want."

"No, I'd rather stay in," he insisted.

Laurens bit back the smile. "'Kay."

And no more was spoken until they were back to camp, Hamilton walking beside Laurens with his bouquet, the other hikers having returned about 45 minutes before. They checked in to confirm they were alive and returned to the cabin.

Hamilton found an empty glass root beer bottle and ventured down to the lake by himself to put water in it. The flowers were pretty. He set them up in the window of the tiny cabin, and noticed Laurens must have gone off to the showers. He grabbed his caddy, towel, and clothes and headed there himself.

"Laurens?" He didn't hear a shower running. He got no answer.

He swallowed, released the open door, and peered under the empty shower stalls. Once the door had shut, he felt hands on his shoulders and a shout, startling him into hitting the perpetrator. "John!"

Laurens laughed.

"Oh, my God, you scared me!"

"Aw, I'm sorry," he continued to laugh.

"No, you aren't. Plus it was mostly the fact that I didn't expect that to be the type of thing you'd do."

"It was hilarious."

Hamilton socked his shoulder with a chuckle. "I'll get you back. I seriously cannot believe you. Were you behind the door?"

"Yessir."

"Dick. Absolute dick." He went to the last shower, not locking the stall door. He continued on about Laurens' actions as he turned on the water. He partially hoped Laurens would hop into the same stall, but in case that was a lot, Hamilton didn't invite him. He'd do it on his own if he had the balls. 

Laurens chose the stall beside him. Hamilton wished they were in prison where the showers were all open, so there were no decisions to be made, and it could be simple. He simply wanted to suck Laurens' dick, at this point. The prospect of him being naked on the other side of some inch-thick pine wall only worsened this desire.

"So, I was thinking, I'm gonna kick your ass at Uno tonight," said Hamilton, to keep the conversation going. "—Again."

"Hey, fuck you." Laurens was washing hud body rigorously. He wanted the grime from the woods out and the scent of Hamilton on. Or something. "It's really more a game of chance anyway."

"John, life's a game of chance. Or else every game we play would be a test to compare skill and intellect in a mundane way. Charts and such. Scientifically-engineered tests. But it's just Uno—so be grateful."

Laurens laughed. "Okay, okay. I'm grateful."

"Good." Hamilton splashed his face, wondering if it would be awkward to douche with Laurens, like, right there.

"Did you get water for the flowers?"

"Yeah. Thanks, for those."

Laurens said, "You're welcome. ...You do actually like them, though?" It was easier to ask with a wall between them.

"Duh, of course. Why wouldn't I?"

Laurens felt like he was at confession. "Oh, well, you know, I just wasn't sure if it was, like, your kind of thing. It's a little girly."

"Fuck 'girly,' they're flowers. I think it's cute." Hamilton was smiling. "I really do like them. You're sweet, John Laurens," he insisted.

John Laurens was having a hard time staying in his own stall. "Thank you, Alexander Hamilton. ...You're cute."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Hamilton was so glad they shared a cabin. "Thanks." He was going to gush or puke all over the place. He brought up how boring the fire pit was to get them talking about that for a while.

Hamilton, at last, said, "Hey, I'm about done." He turned off the water; fumbled with his towel, which he decided he would walk back in. "I'm going out to the cabin. Be back soon?"

Laurens turned off the water, wrapped his towel around his waist, and opened his stall door to see Hamilton. He had been about to say something or another about dressing and following him short after, but he sort of couldn't. It wouldn't do him justice to how he felt in that moment and how he wanted to proceed with their evening. He just wished he had the courage to kiss Hamilton when they watched the sunset, that would have been perfect.

Except Hamilton leaned in towards his lips and they shared their first kiss in the public showers at summer camp. It was pretty much just as good as the sunset would have been. Hamilton liked this the most of any other kiss he'd had in the past two years, at least.

In fact, this was better than the sunset. For one, they would have been fully clothed watching the sunset, but they got to experience this in their towels after showering beside one another.

"See you back at the cabin," Hamilton whispered, pulling away with a smile.

Oh, the charm. Laurens was in a trance until Hamilton had gone. 

He quickly pulled on pants and a tee, combed his hair, and slipped on his sandals. It was like he was racing against time to go back to the cabin.

Hamilton was still in his towel, sitting on his bed. He grinned and joked, "Oh, man, wow. Didn't expect you to get back here so quickly. You didn't even give me time to dress."

Laurens was inclined to cry. He wanted everything about this. He was breathless. "Sorry."

Hamilton stood, holding up the towel. He walked to Laurens. "I think you did it on purpose."

"I think you didn't get dressed on purpose."

Hamilton touched his arm with his free hand. "Guilty."

Laurens kissed him. He pulled away promptly to double-check that the cabin door was shut and the curtains were drawn, returning to Hamilton, who sat on Laurens' bed. 

Laurens leaned over him to kiss him. He whispered, "You totally let me get dressed—you bitch."

"Well," Hamilton's breath hitched with Laurens' lips on his neck, just by his ear, "it was a surprise. A good one. You should—be more grateful."

Laurens could have dug his teeth into Hamilton's throat right then. He was just too much. He had a huge crush. —Oh, man. He never thought he'd crush on Alexander. It made him almost laugh. 

"What's up?" whispered Hamilton, both hands on Laurens' back. His general body really turned him on.

"I..." he kissed Hamilton's cheek, then moved a hand up to his throat, gently cupping his face by the cut of his jaw. "Never thought it, but I have a crush on you."

Hamilton grinned. "Cute."

Laurens considered Hamilton's intentionally (teasingly) patronizing response to be admission to go on with the bite to say, "I never thought you, like, of all people."

Hamilton maybe could have been offended but he only laughed. "But you always thought I was cute. At least, for as long as I've looked like me, you have."

He thought. "Guess, yeah. I did think you were cute even when I didn't know you and thought you were weird and annoying."

"Aw, 'weird and annoying?'" whispered Hamilton, smirking. "Laurens, such a romantic in bed. I mean, I never thought of you that way. I just thought of you as a closeted guy I haven't fucked yet."

Laurens touched his cheek; his thumb pressed to Hamilton's lips. "Oh, my god," he mumbled. He couldn't have been more infatuated with someone he'd known his whole life but never known. He was about to know him. After this, he'd spend years as his best friend and boyfriend. He would promise to marry him someday after college. He would kiss him every night, every second of the day, and even when they were mad at each other, he'd kiss his cheek and sit awake until they could talk about it and he'd take him in his arms, curl around him, and love him forever. He'd know everything about him, every spot that made him feel food, every guilt, every shame, every memory, every sadness, he'd feel through Hamilton as though it were himself, so full of love. He'd do anything to make Hamilton the happiest he could be. Laurens, a junior in high school, knew none of this, had no idea the way he'd learn to love himself and love the cute boy who currently laid beneath him in only a towel—in short, he was neither mature nor ready—so if he did know the future, it'd probably break him—but something, in that moment, told Laurens he was where he belonged. 

He was where he needed to be. 

He just had a crush on Hamilton.

He kissed his nose, pressed their foreheads together, thumb still prodding Hamilton's lips. "Can you get any hotter?" whispered Laurens, in awe.

Hamilton took his thumb into his mouth.

Laurens was on cloud nine. "You just did." He kissed his throat a moment before removing his thumb, pecking Hamilton's lips, and sitting up to reach the damp towel.

"It's getting my bed wet," mumbled Laurens, as though annoyed.

Hamilton grinned. "Saying you want it off me?" His smile widened, pleased by Laurens' nod. "Then take it off."

Laurens was more than happy to oblige. He had the courtesy to lean down and kiss Hamilton as he did so. Once he felt the towel off and heard the plop on the floor, Hamilton flipped to where Laurens lay beside him and kissed him, trying to get atop him. Laurens pulled him up in one motion of good momentum in their rhythm of movement. Hamilton ground on him, helping Laurens undress sloppily, shirt off first. When Laurens paused to kiss his neck, Hamilton said, "I—have condoms."

Laurens sucked on a particular spot where the arteries were exposed the most, pleased, trying to show him his appreciation. Hamilton wondered how he felt so close with him after only having been at the awkward cuddle kind of stage earlier that evening. He didn't hate it. A guy who could move to sex and intimacy promptly was Hamilton's kind of guy. He just sort of wondered if Laurens was different. Maybe Laurens was kinda cute, kinda a good friend. Maybe he was kinda the type to stick around if you feed him. But he didn't have time to get hung up on that. 

Laurens kissed his lips; hands on his thighs. He could beg. "Get a condom, then."

"Don't have to tell me twice." He got up. "I'll get the lights."

Laurens savored his last moments of being able to look at Hamilton's dick clearly before the lanterns were shut off. 

"Get your pants." He realized he should have found the condoms before dimming his vision. He sighed, digging blindly through his drawer.

"Do you just bring condoms everywhere you go, or just to camp?" asked Laurens.

"Not 'just to camp.'" Hamilton laughed. "Um. Figured better safe than sorry."

"They're coming in handy."

"See? That's where ambition gets me." He finally felt the air bubble in plastic, relieved. 

"I lack ambition. But look at me."

Hamilton was grinning. "Thanks for not hating me anymore."

"I'll never hate you again."

Hamilton giggled. "You don't know that. You don't even know me yet, John. We're basically—" he shivered at Laurens' hand on his lower back, urging him down to the bed, and he leaned into it gladly. "We're strangers... hooking up after one date."

Laurens had been kissing his neck. "I don't care. Sorry if I put you off—"

Hamilton, hands on Laurens' body, found it difficult to respond immediately. "...No... no, you didn't put me off," he was sort of breathless, the more he breathed. "Funnily.. I don't want you to hate me."

Laurens was relieved. He said against Hamilton's lips, "Good. So, wanna keep... hanging out after this?"

"Of course." He pecked his lips. "John."

"Mhm?"

"Enough talk."

Laurens kissed him after a small whisper of, "Okay." He could have died at the sensation of Hamilton grinding on him. He wondered if he could just pin and fuck Hamilton. He didn't normally feel quite so... this, but something about the adrenaline and the boner made him an animal. A respectful animal who asked, "What do you want me to do?"

Hamilton slumped against him, taking in his scent and essence. He mumbled on his neck to tickle him, "I want you to take the condom from my right hand."

Laurens rubbed his back with one hand, venturing up to his head and along his neck, and with the other hand, he had a grip his thigh. He held it in place firmly. He chose to release the hand petting Hamilton to grab the condom.

Laurens totally took a gamble, almost sure he'd sound like a fool; he asked Hamilton, lips on his ear, "Want me to pin you down and fuck you?" having to just say it because there was no other way to ask.

Hamilton grinned, melting. "All of the above."

Laurens kissed him. "Just let me know if it feels good or not."

Yeah, Laurens definitely was a stray who'd stick around if you fed him. Hamilton obliged his words, body relaxing. 

Laurens turned himself and pushed Hamilton to the bed. He desperately wished he could clearly see Hamilton's body but he was able to see the outline and general shapes and dips. He began kissing Hamilton's mouth, biting his lip to elicit a nonverbal encouragement from him; moved to his neck, enjoying once again the way his throat moved—from the bobbing of his Adam's Apple to the flex of his vitals to the thumping of blood pumping through him to the air he breathed, fluctuating with everything Laurens did right.

He hoped he was doing right. 

Hamilton was enjoying this. He had sort of fantasized vaguely about Laurens but because they shared a small room with no privacy in any sense of the word, he had no time to jerk it without worrying about being walked in on. The cabin didn't lock. You were supposed to take care of private hygiene routine in the showers. He could, of course, masturbate in the shower, but often there were other people around and he found it awkward.

Laurens had the same issue, especially lately. Laurens thought too much about certain guys, especially Hamilton.

"I like hickeys," whispered Hamilton. 

Laurens immediately stopped kissing to suck on this spot on Hamilton's throat, near his jugular. He let his teeth scrape the blooming bursts of blood vessels on his sweet, soft skin. 

He left a few on his chest as well and did not neglect Hamilton's nipples—quite happy to make him shiver by teasing. He then moved to Hamilton's stomach, touching his sides, recognizing how he arched his back and flexed his stomach. Laurens rubbed his stomach tenderly, pushing him down and beckoning him to relax. He told him to.

Hamilton let his stomach sit un-flex, body letting off tension in what felt like physical steam more than imaginary tension—hot steam prickling his face and body when Laurens asked of him to relax. Hot, hot, hot. He melted. His eyes closed with his head back.

Laurens kissed around his groin, on his thighs, teased Hamilton to Hell. He nudged his thighs open wider just to kiss them. When he finally let his hand (barely) grace over Hamilton's erection, Hamilton's whole body shivered. He swallowed and squirmed his hips, hoping in some way to lean into Laurens' touch.

When he left a chaste kiss to the head of Hamilton's cock, Hamilton sat up, trying to get closer, shaking. 

"John..."

Laurens braced his cheek then once again kissed his face all over. 

Hamilton fell back, panting to catch his breath. "Want me on my knees?"

"If you want."

Hamilton flipped and pushed against Laurens, feeling the bulge in his boxer briefs. Laurens rutted against him. He unwrapped the condom and shoved down the front of his briefs to work the condom on. He held Hamilton's thighs so they were backed up against his. Rather than giving him what he wanted right away, he used Hamilton's thighs, pressed together, to fuck. 

Hamilton trembled. "Laurens."

The dim view of his cock moving between Hamilton's legs was so hot. He was so close to begging.

He put his hand on either side of Hamilton's thighs to squeeze them even more, and Hamilton fell from his elbows to his shoulders, face in the pillow. He felt so sexually frustrated.

Laurens bit his lip. "You are so hot." He slowed, hands on Hamilton's hips instead, allowing him to spread his legs. Laurens took his cock from his thighs to rub his taint and balls. Hamilton propped himself back up, setting his legs in place again. He allowed himself a quiet groan to let Laurens know this was good. 

Laurens began, "Do you want—"

"Yes, just, please, put your cock in me. Christ."

Laurens prodded his hole with his thumb, much to Hamilton's enjoyment. "You are so cute."

"Call me cute again, and I'll—"

Laurens pushed the first joint of his thumb in dry. "You'll what?"

Hamilton sucked air in through his teeth, a slight gasp of surprise, and shut up. It did him well; in just a moment, Laurens had removed his thumb and was lubing up then lining his cock with his hole, the head inside by the time Hamilton released the breath he'd been holding as he bit down on the pillow. Laurens continued when instructed to do so.

He began to push Hamilton's legs apart to move inside him deeper—a little faster. He had leaned over enough to grab Hamilton's hands and pin them down on either side of his body, causing his upper half to fall—keeping him as close as possible. He wished fucking Hamilton could last forever.

Hamilton groaned into the pillow. "Don't— Jo—hn."

Laurens slowed.

"Don't... stop."

Laurens pulled out, spit on his hand, rubbed it on his member, and pushed back in, harder than before, determined to fuck Hamilton until he forgot his name. He had released Hamilton's hands during all this so once the boy was promptly distracted taking his cock in his guts, Laurens grabbed his wrists and with one hand, he held them behind Hamilton's back, tugging on him in a way that was almost uncomfortable if Hamilton had been conscious enough to notice it. He didn't notice it. He was too busy thinking about how deep Laurens' thrusts were. He let out a squeaky moan. 

Laurens didn't know how much more he was able to give him--or how much longer he could last. "Good?" he managed to get out. He thrust in but pulled back slowly this time, again all the way out.

"Y-yes..."

With a particularly punishing thrust he pushed back in, inciting within Hamilton another short, high-pitched noise, as he remained taking it.

Hamilton groaned. He could feel his prostate roused by the pressure. He squirmed, wishing to thrust forward, to get off, feeling so close.

With his hand with which he was not holding Hamilton's wrists, Laurens reached to create a pocket with his hand for Hamilton to push into. He fucked himself against Laurens' hand while Laurens focused on fucking his ass--glad Hamilton was close, as he himself was and was doing all he could to keep himself together, to keep giving Hamilton what he wanted.

Hamilton could have whimpered. He shook, coming into Laurens' hand and the bed beneath him. He felt some on his stomach and chest. Laurens did not stop pushing into him. 

"So good," made out Hamilton, shaking still from his orgasm and the continued stimulation.

Laurens rode out his orgasm with his head back, moaning. 

He released Hamilton's hands and imagined fucking his cum into him, disappointed by the condom, but only slightly. He pulled out, pulled the condom off, and fell down to kiss Hamilton tenderly.

Hamilton was too tired to move. "Fucking... Christ, Laurens..."

Laurens kissed his face, feeling accomplished at the way he got his bunkmate to tremble. He pet the back of his head. "Was I too rough?" He didn't want to hurt him, still.

Hamilton shook his head. "Good rough. That's what I mean. We... have gone to school together for eleven years. We should've been fucking before this."

He laughed. "I probably wasn't too good in fifth grade."

Hamilton kissed him, chuckling. "That's fucked up. I mean, more in the past few years."

"I fucked you now."

"Gotta start somewhere." He yawned, glancing down, disappointed by the cum on his body. He whispered, "Dammit."

With a kiss to his nose, Laurens whispered, "I'll clean you up. Want me to grab a towel?"

Hamilton figured the answer was obvious, so he said sarcastically, "No, I want you to lick it."

Laurens looked at him, unable to tell if he was serious. 

Hamilton laughed at the realization. "You dog!"

"What! You said it."

"I was kidding." He kissed him. "But if you want to..." he was sort of chuckling with Laurens between kisses, "go ahead. If you are a gentleman about it, and I know you will be, I'll let you fuck me awake in the morning."

Laurens quite liked the idea of fucking Hamilton as he slept. It just seemed too good to pass up.

He gave him a final kiss before scooting down on the bed to kiss Hamilton's nipples, then press his tongue flat against the skin—dragging it to lap up the cum on him like he was a dog. Hamilton was a little surprised he actually was doing it, too. Fucking puppy. 

He took his time doing this, pleased that it seemed to be rousing Hamilton again. He made his way to his groin, swallowed the come in his mouth, then went down on him. He worked with his tongue on his cock in his mouth until Hamilton was again hard.

Hamilton brought his fist to his mouth.

As Laurens mercifully delivered oral sex—much different, noted Hamilton, than just a moment before; fucked sans mercy, sans respect, just like he'd asked and wanted; this was different; it was Laurens' warm mouth taking care of him, showing him all the world's kindness—Hamilton thought about this. He thought about how Laurens gave a shit enough to get him off a second time. He thought about how cute Laurens was—little stray puppy. He laid back and enjoyed it. He pet Laurens' head. 

Laurens was even puppy-like when he laid back next to Hamilton after making him come, swallowing it this time.

Hamilton kissed his cheek. "Sorry about your bedding. Gonna have to change it."

Laurens sighed, not feeling up to it. He didn't open his eyes.

"Oh, come on. It can wait until morning. You sleep in my bed tonight."

Laurens thought that sounded nice. He forced himself out of bed so he could find clothes.

Hamilton, still on the bed, had discovered Laurens' shirt from earlier. He stole it and, after wiping himself off properly with the damp towel on the floor, put it on. He went to his drawer for some boxer briefs.

He fell onto his own bed, making room for Laurens and waiting for a moment. His eyes were closed.

Laurens flopped down. He kissed Hamilton's grin. "You're so cute."

"You're so stupid." He pushed his face.

"You're so funny."

"And you're so..." he pressed his nose against Laurens' side. "Whatever."

He laughed at him. He smiled at how Hamilton pet his hair again. "Thank you."

"I have a feeling the remainder of camp's gonna be pretty fun."

Laurens thought he was the most clever guy in the world: "For me, maybe. You might not be able to sit right."

Hamilton gasped and his hit arm. "I can't fucking believe you! How do you continue to shock me?"

"It's easy. You're shocked by everything."

"Not even true. I'm only shocked because I thought you were too sweet to say things like that."

"Where did you get that impression?"

"Your sweetness levels."

"My glucose."

Hamilton laughed. "Your glucose levels told me. Too much glucose to say crass things." He scrunched his nose at a kiss. "Point in case."

• • •

Laurens was early to rise. They didn't usually begin serving breakfast in the hall until 7:30, but Laurens was very sweet to the lunch ladies for years, so he slipped into the kitchen and was given room to whip up something quick, thirty minutes before breakfast even began. He even got a cup of coffee. He didn't tell the kitchen staff that it wasn't for himself. 

Although he had made it to the cabin before Hamilton awoke, the smell of coffee and food roused him. The closing of the door caused him to open his eyes. 

He was very happy to see Laurens with food.

"Good morning," greeted Laurens, sitting.

"Morning." He suddenly grinned, sleepily rubbing his eyes. "What happened to fucking me awake?"

"Oh. I forgot. But I brought you eggs, toast, and bacon." 

And now the stray puppy dog was feeding him. Hamilton could not believe his luck. 

"Thank you."

"Welcome."

"You have too much glucose, Laurens."

It took him a moment to understand—but he laughed. "Sorry."

"It's okay. Sorry again about your sheets. Come sit next to me."

Laurens sat beside him. 

Hamilton fed him a bite of egg. "You get breakfast, cutie?"

"You can't call me that, it makes me—" there was no need to finish; his cheeks were pink enough to speak for themselves. He said, "You know."

"Cuter," remarked Hamilton. "Did you?"

"Yeah, I'm in with the lunch ladies."

"I love that. How's the coffee?" He peered into the cup. "I'm glad you take me for a light and sweet kinda person." He set aside the lid of the thermal canister. "'Cause I am." He drank some. "God bless."

Laurens pecked his neck. 

Hamilton swatted him. "Fuck off, you can't expect me to be able to eat with your distractions."

Laurens didn't care. He poked his side. "Nice shirt." 

"Oh," he realized. He didn't mind that Laurens was watching him speak with food in his mouth. "Yeah. Stole it from the guy I fucked last night."

"If you wear it today, I'll let you keep it as a souvenir."

He giggled. "Oh, my God. You want me to show off or something? It's not like everyone remembers what clothes you own, John."

"No, but it does have my name on the sleeve."

Hamilton lifted his arm to examine the tiny print. "You're right. Did you make this in cub scouts?" he asked, speaking childishly in a mocking manner. 

Laurens hit his arm. "It's just an old training shirt."

He hummed, then continued to eat. "First, we come back from the hike later, after dark. Second, I had a bunch of flowers."

"Third..." Laurens took the collar of Hamilton's shirt between his teeth.

"I'll stab you with this plastic fork."

"I triple dog dare you."

Hamilton continued eating.

Laurens stood, paced, got bored and laid on the floor, stood and paced again, then sat beside Hamilton, who was finishing the last of his coffee. Hamilton wanted to laugh at him. "I'll wear the shirt," he said, giving in. "You have to let me keep it."

"I said I would."

"Swear."

"I swear."

"Cool. Your loss, I just got a free shirt." 

• • •

The remainder of camp was beyond exciting. Laurens felt happier than ever. He was excited for what life could be like when they return from camp. He hoped to take Hamilton out before school started.

On the last day of camp, Laurens kissed Hamilton before they left the cabin. His father arrived to pick him up first. He said goodbye to Hamilton with a mere wave and smile, a promise to text. Laurens was glad to have his phone again, at last. 

He greeted his father with the glow still lingering.

Henry Laurens had dreadful news. He didn't wish to spoil his son's good mood—though a part of him despised how he could be so happy. John escaped while Henry Laurens was stuck being both parents as his wife was dying before his eyes.

He sighed.

Laurens asked how his mother was.

"She..." Henry Laurens wished he could put on a smile. He did so for his other children—but for his eldest, he could no longer bear to feign that it was all okay. It wasn't and it wouldn't be. "—Is at home."

"Since when?" he asked with excitement laced in the quick bisyllabic question. Henry Laurens scorned such naïveté.

"Dr. Osborne thinks it would be best, if... she was home right now." He sighed deeply. His son wasn't sure he liked where this was going; he wished to ignore it, but so did Henry Laurens—yet here it was. The news nobody wished to hear; worse than the diagnosis; at least there had been hope before. But now Henry Laurens had to find a way to tell his son, and all he could muster was, "Your mother—" He didn't know what he was doing, how to go about this. "I know this is going to be difficult to hear, but know that you are strong, Jack. You are old enough to be a man. If plain growing up was not enough, surely this... will. And being a man... you have got to be there for your family. There is no easy way to tell this to you, son, but at this point, you must understand that what I am trying to tell you is your mother is not home to recover. This is hard on everybody. My wife..." He was unsure expressing grief in the view of his son would teach him the right lesson. He knew what John needed right now was strength, and for somebody to tell him to muster it himself. He had to be strong for his children. "I pray for her every day." 

Laurens could not believe what he was hearing. "My wife"? Fucking seriously? Amidst this lecture, his fists were tightening, eyes hot with tears behind them, close to revealing his reactions. He wanted to ball his eyes out and throw a fit. He wanted to make a scene and get out of the car. Stop the car. Stop his father's rambling. Stop the world from crashing down around him. 

He wanted his father to stop telling him to be strong and start comforting him—but even then, he knew there was nothing his father could say to ease his distress. 

"I prayed, too," said Laurens, intending to be angry with his words but it came out in a whisper.

"We all did. But sometimes... Well, God—he works in mysterious..." 

Laurens scoffed, glad his father didn't dare finish that sentence. "Right. Just great. The Lord taketh."

"Now, John, I know you are upset."

"Upset? My mother is dying." His voice could go no higher without breaking. "And apparently, 'for real' this time. And you just keep saying, like, to be strong." He wiped at his eyes. He was so glad his father had to focus on the road. "And my mother is dying. And you want to talk about how we prayed, like—as if praying did anything, and, like, as if it'll do good now."

Henry Laurens was conflicted. "I wish to feel anger, as well." He sighed deeply again. "Loss can make us feel angry, sometimes even towards God. But He didn't give your mother cancer, and He isn't ignoring our prayers."

"So, what? 'God works in mysterious ways'?"

"John..."

"Don't give me that crap, Dad. Either God hates Mom and our family or he never," existed in the first place, but Laurens stopped. He couldn't say that.

"John, that is horrible to say. God loves us all. He loves your mother; she devoted her life to the Holy Spirit. This isn't a punishment, John, she is returning to Heaven."

"No. Don't say that. You know—"

"She won't hurt anymore."

"Dad, you know that's bullshit."

Henry Laurens would have scolded John for cussing, had his voice not cracked. That was too cruel. Instead, he rationalized, "She is unhappy. She is in pain. I love your mother more than you can fathom. I can't fathom it," he said. "I love her. It hurts me to see her like that. I don't want her to leave, but she will be in a better place."

"That's bullshit."

"John, please."

"Dad, it's bullshit!"

Henry Laurens was silent for about two minutes.

Laurens was holding everything in. "Bullshit," was all he could get out without bursting into tears. He could taste blood. He discovered he'd been biting his tongue a little too hard by the time his father pulled the car over.

Again, the worn man sighed. "I know this is hard. It is not a conversation we wanted to have."

"She told me she was getting better," he said. It felt like he was admitting a secret. "When I talked to her. She seemed better. I shouldn't have gone to camp." He put his face in his hands. 

Henry Laurens put a hand on his son's shoulder. "She did not want your summer to be ruined."

"Well, it is, now."

"Watch your mouth. Your mother—"

"I'm not mad at her, I'm just fucking devastated, okay? Leave me alone."

Henry Laurens sighed once more. He started the car up again.

They drove in silence for two hours. Laurens' only comfort was a text from Hamilton: "❤️ See you next week, maybe?"

He did not answer. He didn't have the heart to do so. He'd explain later. Hamilton wouldn't hold it against him...

Ten minutes from home, Laurens realized he'd have to see the rest of his family. He'd have to see his mom. Selfishly, he wished to go to his room and cry, not see her at all, because he knew it was going to be too much for him. 

He spoke; his voice was hoarse on account of having remained silently choked up for such a long time. "Does Martha know?"

Henry Laurens nodded. "Yes."

"How'd she take it?"

"Funnily, she would not speak to me, either."

"Oh." He swallowed. "What about the younger ones? And Harry?"

"Not yet," he admitted. He felt guilty for it. 

"Why?"

He didn't know why. He had a million excuses why, but they all seemed to be poor ones. It was the right thing to do. Even he could admit that children deserved to understand impactful life changes such as loss. 

"I wish I were the father you need me to be. I am not your mother; that, I'm certain."

You're not, he first wanted to say. He chose silence.

When he got home, he swallowed his pride and followed his father to his mother's room. She was reading Antigone. Why would a woman on her deathbed indulge in a story so harrowing? 

"Hi, Mom." 

She set the book aside. "John." She was smiling like nothing was wrong. "Come here, baby, I missed you." 

Henry Laurens stood in the doorway for a moment, but soon turned to leave. He was lucky enough to escape the stuffiness of the room.

John sat beside his mother. He was wordless at first, but hugged her. 

She asked about his summer. 

When he left at the beginning of the summer, his mother was staying in the hospital for another short period, which had been turning into a longer stay as it was, yet she had been lively—he wondered at what point that had changed. When had her health declined? When did she begin to feign strength over the phone? At what point was she sentenced to death by her own body? Why now? 

Dear God, of all times, why now?

He didn't want to enjoy his summer in the first place. Everything was worse, now. 

But Eleanor didn't wish to talk about anything else besides John's summer. She kept asking, even when he tried to make it seem unimportant, uncomfortable with the elephant in the room. 

They'd spoken on the phone all summer, so he had little to talk about. He had mentioned Hamilton to her but he didn't want to spill the private details of... all that.

Though he tried to talk about anything else, he always ended up on the subject of Hamilton. Stupid Hamilton. He was just too interesting, and Laurens spent too much time with him, so all of his stories involved him. Stupid.

Laurens was convinced his mother was paler than usual. She was sick, after all. She was bedridden. She was sat up, yes, and dignified herself to put on a face, but she was still sick. And she probably wasn't going to get any better.

Devastated further, Laurens felt his head fall to his mother's bed again, squeezing her hand. He wanted to die, too. 

"Mom. Um... I'm going to..." 

If he wanted to be a man, he had to own up to this. Only cowards kept secrets. John Laurens' father did not raise a coward.

Yet, he worried it was selfish to burden his mother with such bad news when she could die, and have to bear that shame to her grave—oh, God, Laurens was sure he was selfish and cruel.

Yet, he knew that he needed to tell her. 

"Next week," he said, "I was going to go, uh, out with my friend, Alex. Like, on a date."

He didn't know what to expect, but eager and loving arms around him was not the first on the list. He felt chills down his spine as well as an intense emotional rush, heat in his face and pricking his eyes.

He said, quickly, to ramble, "But I don't want to right now, I wanna spend time--"

"Please, go have fun."

"Mom, I don't--"

"Jacky, please."

"Momma."

She did not pull away, only squeezing Laurens tighter--as he wondered how she'd lost so much weight in the time he was gone--and she insisted, "Don't punish yourself for me. Promise me you will go out with..." she smiled, though he could not see it, "Alex. It would make me happy."

She felt her son's shoulders shake, as though he were fighting the overwhelming desire to cry. She pet his hair. 

"I thought..." He swallowed. She knew what he thought.

"I love you no matter what, John. You're brilliant and compassionate. I couldn't have asked for anyone better than you." She felt tears roll down her cheeks. "You are my miracle."

Laurens didn't want to leave the hug.

She added, "And from what I've heard about Alex, he sounds like a great boy. You deserve to be happy."

His shoulders shook. "I love you, Momma."


End file.
